


Before You Know Where You Are (You're Saying Goodbye)

by Candid-Canoe (justturnleft37)



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Angst, Crossdressing, Homophobia, M/M, Smut, Swearing, Voyeurism, not exactly a happy ending, this is ruining my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 02:30:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justturnleft37/pseuds/Candid-Canoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As children grow to adulthood, their friendships change. Sometimes those friendships evolve, twist and shift into something foreign. What's left can be messy, unable to be salvaged. Logan has a secret he's kept to himself for as long as he can remember. Kendall finds out about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm making this one A/N and I promise not to interrupt with any others. This will be 5 parts, this prologue being exceptionally short compared to upcoming parts. And, yeah, the title comes from lyrics from The Crying Game, and I realize that might seem trite, but, hey, it works. This fic centers around crossdressing as a kink, folks, and if that bugs you, turn away now. Umm, I tried not to make this all angsty and more silly, but I have such a hard time with silly, so, yeah, this happened.

The only thing marring the beauty of the landscape is the cracked, gray pavement as it winds, hugs the path laid out in front of them. The greenery reaches out over the road, sun slanting through and chasing shadows in the spring breeze.

Kendall stares at the profile of the driver: doe eyes covered by sunglasses, lashes - he is certain - touching the lenses with each blink, the perfect curve of a nose leading down to full lips painted the brightest of ruby. Perfect. A beauty to rival the bright California sunshine, the scenery laid out in mountainous curves.

As though he hasn't touched the driver dozens - maybe hundreds - of times, he stretches out a hand tentatively, fingers splayed and searching, yearning. First fingertips and then his palm meet a silken knee swathed in the finest of thigh-high stockings.

They were a gift.

Pushing up the flimsy material of a skirt, Kendall reveals an almost-polished thigh, garters clutching the lacy toppings of silk. He smooths a finger under the dark, frilly fabric, enticing a tremor from the leg underneath his touch. Wide brown eyes peek at him over the top of the lenses, reminding him where his heart resides as it speeds along with the car.

The driver rolls down the windows, the breeze ghosting in the car with an audible  _whoosh._ Locks of hair colored as deeply as the driver's eyes begin reaching upwards, to the left and right, skipping over lightly-tanned, spaghetti-strapped shoulders. For Kendall, the tendrils hide too much. There's a scent in the air, something floral, something blooming in the heady, heated season, something Kendall can't name, but he's sure his companion could. His hand leaves its place on the other's thigh and reaches to cease the fluid movement of the driver's hair by pushing it behind an unpierced ear. He leans over, lips going as close to that ear as he dares, confident the heat of his breath will warrant another shiver.

"You missed a spot," Kendall breathes, fingers once again searching the skin of the driver's thigh, his eyes tracing the lines of a lean, muscled leg, ending at patent-leather heels with a rounded toe. He traces the tip of his finger around a patch of coarse, dark hair on the driver's leg, and the shudder he had meant to draw out of the other moves within himself.

"Because I know you like it," Kendall's companion replies. The voice speaking is deep - a voice Kendall finds himself falling into like a repeated chorus, a voice so masculine it contradicts the clothing the driver wears.

Kendall runs his nose along the driver's jaw, stopping under his ear, inhaling deeply as a sweet scent unfurls with each thump of his heart. The want rising in Kendall threatens to overtake him, the absolute, all-consuming need moving through him, threatening to steal his consciousness, throw him to the ether.

"What is that smell?" Kendall asks, mouth puckering and pressing against that spot, the  _thumpthump_ of Logan's pulse reverberating in Kendall's lips, making him dizzy.

Logan laughs, a boyish smirk curling the corner of his mouth. "It's just lavender soap," he offers.

As long as he can remember, Logan has known there are two hundred and six bones in the human body. He knows thirty-seven divided by three point seven equals three plus seven. He knows he could read about theories on quantum entanglement until he passes out. Logan knows a brain doesn't feel pain and runs on ten watts of power and that the higher a person's I.Q., the more dreams they have.

Logan dreams all the time, even when he's awake.

The driver knows when he was four, his older sister dressed him up like a princess. He easily recalls the sound of his mother's shiny, heart-shaped pendant being clasped by his sister's clumsy hands. He knows he loved the way the tutu she put on him flared and made it look like his hips were more rounded. Logan knows the crushed velvet of the top with a silky lining felt beautiful against his skin, his hands as he slid them up and down his belly. He can still remember how the tip of the lipstick was cool against his lips. He knows it all made him feel special.

Logan knows his father was furious. He knows until that day he had never been so ashamed of having a smile on his face.

He's never wanted to be a girl; that's not what this is about. The idea is to feel beautiful again, desired, lovely, cherished. Kendall makes Logan feel it all, even when he doesn't wear a stitch of clothing, but Logan has yet to admit this to himself. Maybe he never will.

Logan's eyes leave the road again, for a moment, but they remain hidden behind his dark glasses. This way, he can peer at Kendall without giving anything away: his desire, the dark need tightening his stomach, the emotion planted in his heart when they were nothing but children. Kendall only sees his own want in the reflective lenses. The driver turns back to the road and swallows as Kendall's hand palms the bulge burgeoning under Logan's clothes. The car's speed lessens as they turn left, a slow breath expelled past Logan's trembling lips.

The car is parked and Logan extracts Kendall's hand, straightens the lines of his skirt, nervously tugs the tops of his stockings. He checks his lipstick in the rearview mirror, puckering his lips, and - pretending he is perfectly calm – he aims a tiny kiss at his reflection. Kendall chuckles, grabs Logan's hand.

"We're here," Logan says.


	2. Chapter 2

It starts the day Logan wears the red dress.

Logan hates himself a little for being excited at Mrs. Knight's suggestion to dress in her clothes, but he explains it away as excitement for the lecture he plans to attend at an all-girl's school. When she holds up the dress, the panty-hose, the shoes, Logan feels obvious, blushing, a hot mess of rosy cheeks and Freudian flaws. But he can't deny the anticipation coiling in his stomach, the flutter in his chest.

The material of the dress is heavy and cold when he slides it on. It flares out at his knees and swishes almost silently when he sways his hips, whispering and rustling just so against the black tights covering his legs. He rubs his hands over his thighs, his chest, and his eyes close before he realizes what he's doing and stops himself. Logan stands up straight and slides on the three-inch, pointy-toed heels and grimaces. He likes the height but hates the pinch.

"What am I doing?" he mutters to the quiet, glad no one is home but Mrs. Knight in the living room. Maybe every other guy feels this way in girl clothes. Maybe the thrill jolting through his spine is commonplace, ubiquitous, average.  _Many people cross-dress as a matter of comfort or style,_ Logan reasons. He looks at his heel clad feet and knows this is anything but comfortable. "Stop thinking, Logan," he adds, knowing, for him, how impossible that is.

The voice of his father echoes in his head,  _My son won't be a fag,_ and he quickly steps out of the shoes, pulls the dress over his head and tosses it on his bed, staring it down as though it were a predator and he the prey.

But a few moments pass, the memory of his father's words dying down to merely a painful hiss, and he lifts the dress from its piled folds on the bed. His desire to see the lecture from his favorite mathematician - or maybe the absence of the weighty fabric on his skin - pulls him back into the dress, moves the shoes back to his feet.

_Just this once._

When Logan gets home, somewhat beaten, feet aching, and a story he doesn't want to tell burning his lips, he doesn't notice the way Kendall's gaze darkens, his eyebrows pull in confusion. Funny, because Logan notices everything about Kendall on a normal day. This, however, is anything but normal.

Logan is honestly too busy wondering how he can get some lingerie that fits without having to try it on first. He winds up wrapping a string around his hips, his chest, and using his protractor to measure, afterwards placing a hopeful order online. Just a little something, something lovely, pressed against his skin underneath his clothes, something to remind him of what it is to feel pretty.

~oOo~

Kendall doesn't stop thinking about the way Logan's hips looked in that dress. He can't stop wondering what kind of underwear Logan wore underneath it, or if he wore any at all. Kendall wonders if he's sick to have these kinds of thoughts about his best friend, his roomie, his bandmate. Logan simply dressed that way as a means to an end, not to create some twisted masturbation material for Kendall.

Not that Kendall has jerked off or anything to thoughts of Logan in a dress. That would be too much, too far and Kendall wouldn't be able to look Logan in the eye ever again; he is certain.

Kendall tries to do what's expected and dates Jo. He likes girls,  _loves_ girls, of course, but his thoughts keep going back to Logan in that dress. Maybe it's just because Logan would make such a pretty girl. Why then, does Kendall imagine peeling those layers off, the faux flair of the Logan's hips removed and straight, masculine lines revealed? He thinks about it always, always, but avoids asking himself too many questions. What does it matter anyway?

They're in this meeting with Gustavo, and Kendall's brain feels numb. He makes every attempt to listen, but forgets when he realizes Logan's legs are shaved. Logan's feet are spread apart, toes stretched between the thong of a flip flop, legs sprawled wide. They look so pale without the dark hair Kendall is accustomed to seeing and he has this urge to cover Logan, protect him from exposure. Kendall shakes his head as Logan crosses an ankle over a knee and his shorts ride up higher. Kendall blinks once, twice, three times when he sees the lace of a garter just barely peeking below the khaki colored fabric.

Kendall knows the red lace is impossible to blink away.

And Kendall doesn't want James or Carlos to see. He doesn't want Gustavo to see, and he doesn't want Kelly to see, so he makes a quiet move closer to Logan, tugs on the fabric of his shorts to keep the secret between them. Logan's head snaps to meet Kendall's, eyes wide and glossy, fear prominent as Kendall feels a tremor move through Logan and into him.

"It's okay," Kendall whispers, turning away because he can't look at Logan anymore, not when he realizes he's half hard and Logan's vulnerable expression is only making him harder.

_What the fuck?_

Kendall feels Logan staring at him, feels those brown eyes boring into the side of his face, enticing a heated blush to rise from his chest to his cheeks. Kendall bites his lip. Since when does he fucking blush?

Later, when James asks Logan about his legs, Logan explains he's taken to speed swimming at the Y.

_Yeah,_ Kendall snorts,  _right._

While Logan lies to James, Kendall watches the words slip past his lips. Once, when they were thirteen, Logan borrowed Kendall's chap stick after hockey practice. His lips had been so chapped they left tiny rivets in the normally smooth surface of the balm. Kendall remembers Logan seemed to smear the stuff all over his mouth, missing it in places. Kendall remembers how shiny the skin around his lips was, almost like he'd been eating something messy - fried chicken or cheeseburgers. Kendall had laughed, but he wanted to smooth the shine away, push the lip balm back to Logan's lips where it belonged.

Kendall wonders, now, if maybe that had been a strange want to have. He wonders if it was strange how he pressed the balm to his own lips until the rivets melted away.

He hears James suggest Logan should shave his arms and chest too.

Logan must've noticed Kendall staring because his eyebrows pull together. He turns on his heel and goes to their room, softly shuts the door. Kendall doesn't miss the clicking of the lock.

~oOo~

Logan trusts that Kendall won't say anything about what he saw. It's better to simply trust than to actually have to bring up the subject.  _Hey, Kendall, did you really see my garter and try to cover it for me?_ Yeah, that would go over well. He's scared though. Scared Kendall thinks he's a freak, because the other boy stops talking to him about personal things. Kendall stops mentioning Jo, stops asking for help on his homework, stops the conversations they shared in the dark before they fell asleep. Now, instead of Kendall's voice following him into dreams, Logan has to bear the constant stream of his own thoughts. He needs to snap out of it. He needs a few stolen moments on his own.

As soon as he finds himself alone, he rips into his newest package from a company called  _Intimate Expressions,_ a website he has come to frequent. Their boxes are discreet and Logan explains them away with mentioning a new chemistry set or advanced calculus book. No one tries to peek.

His fingers slide into satin, and he pulls the black fabric from the box, rubbing it against his cheek, pushing down the sick feeling in his stomach in favor of the rising exhilaration. Hurriedly, he undresses, raising his arms high and letting the chemise slick down his arms, smooth over his sides, the straps coming to rest on his shoulders. Inching the matching panties up past his shaven knees, he stands as pulls the small piece of cloth over his ass cheeks and cock, embracing him in an intimate hug. It all fits. Perfect. Logan sighs, and he's not sure if it's from relief or pleasure or both.

Moving to stand in front of the full length mirror in the corner, Logan pushes up to his tip toes, turning to the side and watching as his calf muscles flex, wondering if he could buy some heels without being disgusted by himself. Sometimes he thinks he is taking this too far. Sometimes, it's not nearly far enough.

His fingertips trace his hip bones, the contours of his stomach. Watching his hands in the mirror, he tries not to ponder whose hands he would have replacing them were the world a kinder place. It's a secret he's kept from everyone: his family, his friends, the logical part of his brain. Logan is frighteningly good at keeping secrets. He's never told how Carlos accidentally killed his own pet hamster in the fifth grade. He's never told how James broke the vending machine at the rink when he hit it for stealing his quarter. He's never told how he saw Kendall naked when they were twelve and realized what lust felt like for the very first time.

Kendall knows he's invading Logan's privacy, but he can't move. He doesn't really want to move, but the same instant he does, because Logan would be beyond pissed if he saw Kendall in the doorway, mouth agape, eyes unblinking, watching as the smaller boy fingers the straps of the black top, moves to his hips and smooths over the lacy edges of the panties he wears. Kendall's mouth falls open wider still as he takes in the accentuated curves of Logan's backside, the fabric stopping mid-cheek, flesh peeking out and begging to fill the sudden void in Kendall's palms.

_This is ridiculous,_ Kendall thinks, covering his eyes with his hand because his lids won't seem to go down on their own, quietly shutting the door and leaving Logan on his own once again.

But Kendall can't forget, and instead of the red dress, those frilly, black panties haunt his thoughts.

The next day, Kendall can't help but wonder what Logan is wearing under his jeans, his loose-fitting sweater. Over the next several days, it becomes almost an obsession, Kendall looking closely when Logan has to raise his arms over his head, bend over to retrieve something from the floor. Kendall tries to be inconspicuous, but one can only hide so much of an intense stare. Logan must know; he has to, because Kendall catches spare glimpses of lace and satin and silk, blues and blacks and pinks and purples like a sky fading from twilight to night.

There comes an evening where Kendall has a date with Jo, James and Carlos are going to see a movie and Katie and Mrs. Knight are going to the mall. Kendall's stomach flips with anticipation, because he knows Logan has plans when he repeatedly rejects the idea of going to the movies with James and Carlos.

Kendall tries to go on his date with Jo, he really does, because he doesn't want to a creepy stalker, a peeping Tom, but that image of Logan is still burned into his brain and he wants,  _needs_  it replaced by something else. They make it all the way to the restaurant before Kendall feigns illness and they go back to the Palmwoods, Kendall insisting that Jo doesn't need to come into 2J; she doesn't need to take care of him; no, he will be fine on his own. He doesn't mention to her Logan is home; he can't explain why he doesn't want her to know, or maybe he just doesn't want to.

So much is happening to Kendall: he's become a creeper and a liar and apparently somewhat gay for his best friend, and he has no desire to sort it out yet. And that's what he's doing, thinking about not thinking about sorting out his thoughts when he walks down the hall, stops at the door to his and Logan's shared room. He places his ear against the wood of the door and waits, listens. His heart is rabbiting away in his chest and he tries not to press it to the door, worried Logan will hear him. Kendall stands there as long as he dares until he hears a slight rustling, the click of a heel. There's no way he can keep still any longer, so Kendall turns the knob with an imperceptible  _click._ The opening is only enough for Kendall to see in with one eye, and he claps a hand over his mouth to stifle a moan.

Tonight, Logan stands in front of the mirror wearing a full garter belt, straps dangling and clutching nothing, a corset of blue and black fabric with strings dangling, useless, across Logan's barely clothed backside. Kendall's green eyes blaze a trail down Logan's legs, elongated by the stilettos he wears, shining lean and smooth. Kendall thoughtlessly licks his lips.

Logan huffs as he reaches to the strings between his shoulder blades, tries to tighten and tie the corset, finding it difficult on his own. Kendall's eyes want to roll back into his head, and with only a glance, he's throbbing everywhere. The thrumming of his heart rises into his throat and he's nearly choked by the sheer size of it. Kendall has always known sound, rhythm could fill a space, make something empty full, but music, no matter how lovely, has never threatened to smother him this way. This way the sight of Logan does.

The boy Kendall can't tear his eyes from holds the laces at the base of his spine, just at the curve of his ass, and Kendall wishes he could help Logan. The tightness of the corset creates this amazing curve to Logan's waist, his hips flaring only just, and Kendall longs to smooth his hands across that dip and flair, before letting him loose again, revealing the boy underneath.

Kendall is lost in his imaginings, eyes trained on that tortuous curve, only pulled back when a small sound comes from the other boy. His eyes dart to Logan's face in the mirror, a doe-eyed stare meeting his own. He thinks of pulling the door closed, pretending he doesn't notice Logan watching him watching, but Logan's cheeks flame. He hides his face with his hands.

"Please, just leave, just leave," Logan whispers, the sound quiet, defeated, humiliated. Kendall can't bear the crack in Logan's voice, the way his shoulders have slumped. Kendall stands, only just realizing he had fallen to his knees, and moves with trembling legs behind Logan. Without speaking, he pulls the laces of the corset tight, the boning gripping the smaller boy in a vice. Logan gasps at the constriction, and Kendall gently pulls Logan's hands away from his face. Without a word, Kendall urges the other boy to look at himself.

Logan's fingers seem to gravitate to the seams of his top, a sound half pleasure and half embarrassment slipping past his lips. Kendall's hands cover Logan's as they move across the expanse of his stomach, his sides, and their eyes meet in the mirror over Logan's head. The flush deepens on Logan's cheeks, something more than embarrassment coloring his face. His pupils are blown wide, the black center leaving merely a slim circle of brown. Heat rolls off the smaller boy, and Kendall moves closer to Logan still, pressing him forward into the mirrored glass. Without thought, he pushes his hips firmly against Logan's ass, a wanton groan unfurling from his throat.

Kendall doesn't recall a time he's ever been so desperate, so overcome. He'd thought he knew what want was before - the desire to see a girl's breasts or buy a new hockey stick - but he was wrong. But maybe what he's wanted in the past was right and what he wants now is wrong; he won't contemplate it now, maybe not ever.

A heavy breath from Logan fogs the mirror and his eyes close, his thoughts a myriad of images and conflicting emotions.  _I'm not a fag, I'm not, I'm not,_ Logan repeats to himself, even as he moans when Kendall rubs his obvious erection against Logan's hip. Kendall's traces the seams of Logan's corset before going back to caress the webbing between Logan's fingers, and each light touch sends shocks of lust through his stomach and lower, lower. Despite the sudden weight of his lids, Logan opens his eyes again, meets Kendall's gaze and immediately closes them once more. Logan saw so much,  _more_ than too much, glinting from Kendall's dilated pupils, shining in the gloss of his eyes. Things Logan can't deal with. Kendall presses again, hard, until Logan finds himself with his cheek against the glass, the cool mirrored surface an intense contrast to the hot body against his back.

This can't happen.

"I'm not letting you fuck me," Logan pants, arching his back and pushing his backside against Kendall's fully hardened dick. "I'm not gay." The sound of Logan's voice or his words or some kind of lingering sense seem to snap Kendall out of it, and he drops his hands, backs away. Logan thinks Kendall is gone until he moves from the mirror, sees Kendall's reflection a few feet behind him. Logan can't keep eye contact, even though this is only Kendall's image staring him in the face, transferring a copy of a feeling from Kendall, to the mirror, to Logan.

"You look..." Kendall pauses, struggling for words, "mind-blowing, a-amazing. I can't..." Kendall scrubs his hands over his face. "I just thought you should know," he finishes. He leaves the room and closes the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Logan doesn't know how to handle what's happening between him and Kendall. He feels like he's losing his best friend. The only looks they exchange are loaded with confusion, the only words forced and necessary. Does Kendall hate Logan for turning him away? Did he have time to think things over and decide Logan is some kind of twisted weirdo? The questions plague Logan to the point he feels nauseated when Kendall accidentally brushes against him, thoughtlessly touches his arm. Logan thinks and thinks and thinks until he is lightheaded, the only thing certain being the fact he is  _not_ gay, he  _does not_ want his friend to look at him in that lustful way ever again, he  _did not_ like the way Kendall's stiff length felt pressed so intimately against him.

Growing up, Kendall's dad wasn't around. Logan had insisted on sharing his own dad. Kendall would try to please Mr. Mitchell, but the most the man had ever treated Kendall with was tolerance. It made Logan furious. Kendall eventually gave up on caring what Logan's dad thought, but Logan couldn't forget the rude comments or mean-spirited glares.

Now, Logan wonders if his dad knew something he didn't. Now, he thinks back on his hero-worship of Kendall, the way he never stopped talking about the other boy, the way Kendall always wrapped an arm around Logan's shoulder - no matter who might be watching. Maybe Mr. Mitchell just resented the way Kendall was such a natural born leader and Logan simply wasn't. Maybe he just resented the way Kendall always seemed to lead Logan to trouble.

_My son won't be a fag,_ Logan hears, the words repeated in his head, his father's voice, a mantra he can't seem to keep too far from his thoughts.

Days seem to pass as weeks and Logan opens his closet to find a small pink bag in the floor on top of his line of shoes. He picks it up, looks behind him and to the left and right to see if anyone is watching. Logan reaches into the bag and pulls out a notecard the same color as the bag. His eyebrows rise as he reads,

_It seemed like you needed some of these. Just wanted to let you know I'm thinking of you._

_-K_

~oOo~

Logan's finger hovers over the 'send' button on his phone for what seem like hours. He wishes he could stop thinking and just act, but that's what Kendall does. Erasing the message, he rewrites it for the twentieth time, runs a hand through his hair. He stares at the phone, the black letters burning into his eyes, the backlight going dark until he touches the phone to bring it back to life. His head pounds, and he's so close to changing his mind. This is something he doesn't want to want, tries not to want. He takes a deep breath, his nerves evident in the shakiness of it. Closing his eyes, he presses the button, his cheeks immediately flushing. For a moment, he panics and wishes there were a way to unsend a message. Somehow, he calms, pressing the phone against his lips: the closest thing to a kiss - he is determined - he will ever give to Kendall.

He goes into the bathroom and waits.

Kendall's phone plays out a notification, a song specifically for Logan. He retrieves the phone from his pocket in a rush, terrified and exhilarated at what the message might say. Both boys seem to have been balancing on a tightrope, meeting in the middle and finding it impossible to move any farther. He stops breathing as he opens his phone, the gadget seeming abnormally hot and heavy in his hand.

_Do you want to see how they look? Come to our room, but don't let me know you're there, please. Ten minutes._

Scrambling to stand, Kendall ignores the ache he feels when he thinks of Logan's  _please,_ when he thinks of how embarrassed Logan is, so embarrassed he has to pretend Kendall isn't even there, but he still wants Kendall to see. Instead, Kendall tells his family and friends he's going to bed, tries to keep his feet from moving as rapidly as the pounding of his heart.

Walking into the room, Kendall doesn't like how dark it is, how the only light comes in through the window and under the crack of the bathroom door. He turns on his bedside lamp, filling a circle of space with soft, white light. He looks around, trying to decide how best to be out of the way. Opening his closet, he slips inside, feeling like even more of a creeper than he already did, especially since unmistakable lust is already tightening his groin.

God, what are they doing? What are they doing?

This seems more dangerous, somehow, more dangerous than when Kendall stumbled upon Logan wearing something not made for a boy, more dangerous than when Logan didn't know Kendall watched. Because now, Logan knows, and Logan must want this, maybe even wants this as much as Kendall does. The idea is frightening and foreign and Kendall finds himself wanting to know what other secrets Logan has, this boy who, until a few weeks ago, Kendall thought he knew everything about.

Kendall doesn't know how he feels about Logan anymore; he knows it's different from the way he felt years ago, maybe even a few hours ago, and that's the most terrifying thing of all.

The bathroom door creaks, and any other thoughts rush out of Kendall with an audible hiss. Logan is wearing the silk stockings Kendall got him, no shoes this time. Kendall's eyes go up and up and Logan is wearing a black garter belt, tiny red bows, red panties underneath. It's all stretched at the top by a bulge in Logan's underwear. Kendall closes his eyes, but only for a eighth of a fraction of a half a second, and when he opens them again he notices Logan's arms crossed over his chest, embarrassed. Kendall wants to tell him it's okay, wants to tell Logan he looks even better in those thigh-highs than Kendall could've ever dreamed, but Logan made it clear he didn't want Kendall to make his presence known. He puts his hands in his pockets, bites the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking.

Kendall wonders what's supposed to happen now, now that he's seen Logan in the gift Kendall got him, and it seems Logan wonders the same thing. Kendall watches as Logan's lips form a round  _O,_ and he hears as the other boy expels a long breath, lowering his arms. Logan nervously shifts his feet, and the sound of the stockings rustling sounds out in the quiet of the room.

Logan, as always, moves to stand in front of the mirror, and Kendall notices a pair of red heels stationed in the corner. Logan puts them on in two smooth, practiced movements, and Kendall is so glad he turned on the lamp because in the soft light, Logan seems to glow. Kendall can see the flex of Logan's calf muscles, the way his ass immediately becomes more rounded and all Kendall can think is  _touchtouchtouch._

Instead of touching Logan, he touches himself, hands still in his pockets. Kendall presses the heel of his hand against his erection, and he tastes blood where his teeth still bite into his cheek. And Logan just stands in front of the mirror, moving his hips from side to side, looking at himself from different angles. Kendall is sure the other boy has no clue how fucking gorgeous he looks, what he's doing to Kendall by simply standing there.

Logan is at a loss as to what he should do next, what should happen next, but it doesn't seem like enough anymore just to know Kendall watches. He barely looks over his shoulder, towards the closet in which he knows Kendall hides, and the look is enough encouragement so that Kendall speaks out.

"Go sit on the edge of your bed," Kendall whispers, and fear and disgust and overwhelming  _want_ make Logan freeze. "I won't come out, I promise," the voice from the closet adds. Logan nods, unsure if it's relief or disappointment he's feeling as he follows the command.

Logan sits with a cautious quiet, his hands trembling a ridiculous amount. He places his palms atop his knees, the soft, thin fabric beneath his fingers begging him to run his hands over his legs. So, he does, extending a leg and pointing his toe, the shoe falling from his heel and hanging from the opposite end of his foot. His fingertips start at his ankle, tracing upwards at a leisurely pace, enjoying the sensation not only on his hands, but on his smooth legs. The silk on him reminds him of moments he felt safe, wound in the fabric of his mother's iridescent curtains as a child, visible yet feeling hidden, the sun or moon gleaming through the picture window. For a few moments, Logan forgets about Kendall in the closet, until he remembers how Kendall sometimes hid with him, and those were the times he felt safest of all.

He remembers Kendall, probably older than a normal kid when they stopped doing such things, hiding behind the curtains, fingers splayed against the glass, smiling when the heat of his fingers fogged and made a handprint against the cold. Logan traced the tip of his finger around Kendall's, through the fog of the window, making Kendall's laughter burst forth. Kendall would look at Logan like he were the nicest thing, everything, making him feel like they were the only two people in the world, staring out on naked shimmering branches, the sun bouncing on hard packed snow. Logan would look at Kendall and pretend his friend was nothing more than a friend to him, that the light streaming through the window didn't make Kendall golden, didn't make a feeling akin to longing tug somewhere in Logan's heart, his stomach, anywhere and everywhere with any meaning.

"Stretch out," Kendall says, and his voice has gone low, something coloring the words Logan thinks he knows but doesn't recognize. Logan goes to his back, looks at the ceiling and places his hands on his bare stomach, the pounding of his heart visibly moving the flesh below his rib cage. Without being told, Logan arches his back, moves his hands, running them upwards across his ribs, fingertips barely passing over his nipples.

" _Yes,_ " the voice from the closet hisses. "Would you, um," a pause, a swallow, "um, touch yourself?"

Of course, Kendall doesn't mean for Logan to touch himself in the way he has been. Logan hadn't planned on this, doesn't know what he planned on, but not this. Now that he's here, though, on his back, Logan wonders why the thought was so far from his mind. He tries to work it out in his head, wishing he had some paper and a formula to work things out; with math, there's always a certain answer, and right now, he needs the answer to always, questionably, unwaveringly be that he is  _not_ gay.

_Put on_ your  _clothes, Logan,_ his dad shouted.  _Those girly clothes aren't meant for you. Be a man._ Four-year-old Logan didn't understand, couldn't understand, not really, but this Logan does.

He shakes his head, and he can almost hear the nod in Kendall's voice when he says, "That's okay."

Standing, Logan kicks the shoes all the way off, gathers them to his chest and goes to the bathroom, clicks the lock. When he comes back out, thoroughly dressed as a boy should be, Kendall is pretending to be asleep.

For the first time, whatever he feels about Kendall creeps its way into Logan's dreams, and he loses count of how many times Kendall fucks him into oblivion in his nightmares.

~oOo~

It only takes two days before Logan is texting Kendall again, asking him to come see, to watch him, even though he promised himself the first time was the only time. Kendall agrees and Logan lets him know he doesn't have to sit in the closet; he can sit on his own bed. This time, Logan does touch himself, grasping his cock and pumping something like an embarrassing five times before he comes harder than he ever has, comes so hard all he sees are sunbursts of yellow behind his eyelids and everything is blacked out but gold. He's pretty sure Kendall comes when he does, but he won't look over at him; the tiny grunts and moans he makes are more than enough to make Logan fantasize about Kendall making those sounds around his cock.

Logan freaks out, paces the bathroom after and pulls at his hair.

It doesn't stop him from texting Kendall again and again and again, Logan decreasing the font on his cell phone until the dirty things he requests are small and have less impact. Each night brings Kendall progressively closer until he winds up sitting right next to Logan on his bed, the heat of Kendall sinking through the flimsy clothes Logan wears, the sound of his breath in Logan's ear. Logan tries to stay sane, tries to play like he's not affected by Kendall next to him, miles and miles of skin just waiting, waiting.

Kendall leans in so close to Logan that the heat of his breath tickles the nape of his neck, pushes heat to his face, his chest and everywhere else. And, god, he wants to reach out and touch Kendall; it's something they've both done so casually in the past. A bump of a fist. A pat on the back. A hand resting on a shoulder when a secret is exchanged. But this.

This is more.

"Will you let me help you out of this?" Kendall asks. Logan—as many times as they've done this, as many hushed curses of release they've mumbled right next to each other—Logan has never been able to look Kendall in the eye. Maybe before or after but never right in the middle of whatever this is they're doing. But he looks at him now, a thin circle of jade in Kendall's eyes being swallowed by the low light and want and want and want. Logan has always thought the metaphor about eyes being windows to the soul is garbage, but he's starting to get it. Logan denies the pride he feels, the satisfaction that Kendall seems to need to find a way inside of him, around him, conquer every bit of him.

It doesn't matter. Logan isn't gay.

It's nothing. A big, enormous nothing that has come to mean everything.

Logan looks right in Kendall's eyes and wonders if he sees inside Logan too, if his own eyes are wide as a window at the first promise of Spring.

Letting another guy touch him wouldn't be gay, right? It's just this, just letting Kendall help him out of his clothes, like Kendall would if Logan had a broken arm or leg. So Logan nods to Kendall, short and brief, quick enough to be missed. Logan kind of hopes Kendall misses it.

He doesn't though, and Kendall reaches out with trembling fingers, Logan growing even harder realizing he's actually making Kendall nervous. So Kendall splays his hands on Logan's stomach to steady himself, pushing the thin material upwards with the movement of his fingers. Logan is panting, unable to catch anything, let alone his breath. He's dizzy and his heart is trying to pull him in a million different ways and he just wants Kendall to leave or maybe never take his hands away ever again.

Kendall only pushes the chemise up over Logan's nipples, never taking is off completely. He leans down and presses his open mouth against Logan's chest, as though he could swallow down the speed of Logan's heart. The contact does nothing but cause Logan to double his concentration, hands fisting the comforter below him, eyes trained on the ceiling, parted lips and panting breath. He's relieved Kendall doesn't ask permission to touch; it doesn't give Logan the chance to say no, leaves Logan an  _almost_ innocent bystander. Kendall doesn't ask when he loops his fingers through the edges of Logan's underwear, the tips of his fingers  _so_ close Logan almost bucks his hips, almost begs for Kendall to tug his weeping cock, wrap his lips around the crown,  _swallow, swallow, swallow._

"Are you okay?" Kendall asks, lips ghosting across Logan's nipples, his ribs, the rhythm of Logan's heart in his mouth, his head.

Logan doesn't answer because he doesn't know. But Kendall doesn't stop.

"You're so gorgeous, Logan," Kendall whispers. He moves down to Logan's hips, slides Logan's panties only just past his hips until the tip of Logan's dick is exposed, flushed red and rosy against black fabric. Kendall licks his lips, peppers kisses across Logan's hip bones to the staccato beat of his heart,  _one, two, three, one, two, three._ "Do you have any idea? Do you know how…just how  _hot_ you are?" Then it's Kendall who is breathless, fingers twisting the lace and satin until it protests and rips and Kendall is very nearly embarrassed, but not quite.

Longing to bury his fingers in Kendall's hair, Logan puts them in his own instead, the heels of his hands covering his eyes. Before Logan can begin to formulate a protest, contradict Kendall's statement, his cock is enveloped by tight, moist heat.

" _Fuck,"_ Logan moans, because it feels good, so good his knees bend and his feet press into the bed, curling and clutching and looking for purchase to keep him grounded, remind him what's real.

He also moans because he's almost certain this is gay.

_It's not gay to have your dick sucked, right?_ Logan thinks, excuses the action because there's no way in hell he can ask Kendall to stop. Kendall is all hands and tongue and teeth and lips, and Logan thrusts his hips once before stilling them. Kendall stops what he's doing.

"Stop thinking, Logan," Kendall says, tonguing a circle around Logan's naval, running hands across his inner thighs, reminding Logan of all the skin he has because he's aching in all the places Kendall doesn't touch him.

Logan looks down at Kendall, messy hair, red cheeks, lips wet and bright pink.

"Just stop," Kendall demands again, licking a line from the base of Logan's dick to the tip. Logan closes his eyes and nods and Kendall gets back to it, humming around Logan until he is gasping for air, mumbling, mewling like a kitten.

The feeling is nothing like he's ever known, steam in his groin, something building that goes higher than the clouds, throwing him to the sky as if by slingshot until he sees and feels the sun, and he's coming down Kendall's throat who tries his best to swallow it all.

Afterwards, Kendall looks at Logan the way he's always wanted Kendall to, a look reminiscent of those he would give Logan as they wrapped themselves in curtains, hid under tables, huddled under blanket forts. That look that means everything, like Logan is the perfect sunset or smooth warm up chords or green blades of grass pressing up through snow.

Kendall leans in to Logan's lips.

Logan turns his head.


	4. Chapter 4

The first time Logan fucks Kendall is a complete accident.

As much as fucking can be accidental anyway.

Kendall asks Logan to go out with him, somewhere dark with music and dancing, somewhere Logan can wear a wig and a dress and they can play pretend in front of other people. It's the first words either boy has spoken about it in the light of day. Logan is so shocked he doesn't think it through enough to say no, can only think about Kendall's hand on the small of his back, fingertips pressing in as though Kendall would hold Logan in his palm if he could.

That's how Logan finds himself in some sort of teen dance club, lights flashing and music pumping. He had been nervous at first, scared someone might recognize them, but it's dark outside and in and he's hidden under layers of makeup and long hair and heels and a dress and frilly, white panties. His pinched toes scream at him to sit. But he can't, he won't, because Kendall's hands are on his hips, his waist, smoothing up his sides and to his face. Kendall almost presses his lips against Logan's, heated breath intermingling as they both pant in time with the heavy bass permeating the air. He closes his eyes as Kendall's lips scorch a path along Logan's jaw, to his ear, down his throat. Kendall's hands go back to Logan's hips, digging in with bruising force as Kendall thrusts his hips against Logan, a moan vibrating against his face.

And Logan's never wanted someone so badly in his life, his head full of Kendall's scent, all sweat and soap and memories. Logan knows this is crazy, most likely wrong and will probably ruin what he's had with Kendall since before he can remember, but it's already so far out of the realm of normality, he thinks there's no turning back from here. He can't stop the words flying from his mouth, "Let's go someplace we can be alone."

They're in the car, hips and thighs matched against each other, moving and groaning and writhing, Logan's face buried in the crook of Kendall's neck. Kendall's hands find their way under Logan's dress, palms filled by Logan's ass and fabric and frills.

"Take off your pants," Logan says, helping Kendall with the button, the heat from Kendall's cock moving to Logan's fingers. They struggle for a moment, but eventually get it right. Kendall pushes Logan's skirt up to his hips as Logan pulls down his underwear, fisting his dick as soon as it is freed.

Kendall leaves his hands bunched in the fabric gathered around Logan's waist and takes a long look at Logan as if to communicate  _What are we doing?_

Logan wonders the same thing. He wants to, but he knows how despicable it would be to fuck his best friend in the backseat of a car, and he's certainly not letting Kendall fuck him. So all he says is, "It's okay," before stretching out over Kendall again. His hands find their way under the shirt Kendall still wears, Logan giving himself the excuse he is only steadying himself, not searching out the  _thump, thump_  of Kendall's heart, not yearning to feel Kendall's breath speed through his lungs as he presses their naked cocks together. The pleasure curls in Logan's stomach at the sensation of intimate flesh on flesh, and he bites his lip to keep from crying out.

Kendall's hands are on Logan's face, smoothing through the fake hair before he fists the long strands, and Logan – for only a moment – wishes to take the stupid wig off, know the ferocity of Kendall's grip on his scalp.

"God,  _so good_ , Logan," Kendall groans, his hands moving from Logan's wig to his backside as he erratically thrusts upward.

And, god, there's so much heat, the friction between them, something swelling in Logan with each sound of passion Kendall makes. There's this tug in his chest, too, this feeling he's been ignoring, this ache that is only lessened when Kendall talks to him, touches him, gives him a knowing smirk. He can't stand it; Kendall's lips next to his ear, murmuring and whispering endearments as he bucks upward, matching Logan with each thrust.

"Flip over?" Logan asks, getting as far away from Kendall as he can in the confines of the car, crossing his arms over his chest and pinning down his fingers to keep from touching Kendall so much. Kendall is confused, but he does as Logan asks, looking at Logan over his shoulder. "I'm not going to fu- you know. I'm not going to do that. To you." Logan wants to slap himself for how he screws up his words, and Kendall simply looks away from him, hiding his face in his crossed arms.

Logan spits in his hand and pumps his erection. He moves behind Kendall and presses his dick between Kendall's barely parted thighs, hands squeezing Kendall's cheeks before he begins thrusting in the tight space.

"Touch yourself," Logan breathes, knowing he can't do it himself, no matter how much he wants to. He's dreamt about it, more times than he'd care to admit, the heavy heat of Kendall's cock in his hand, his mouth,  _other_ places even more intimate.

So Kendall grasps himself, the sounds he made earlier picking right up where they left off. The distance hampers them somehow, and Logan can pretend this is all about getting off, being a sick, kinky fuck who gets his jollies by letting his best friend watch him in girl clothes. He tries to do what Kendall always tells him to do and stop thinking, but it's _fucking_ hard for Logan, whose thoughts go so fast sometimes he can't even talk.

He's trying to concentrate on fucking the space between Kendall's thighs, but his eyes travel up the strong line of Kendall's back, his fingers itching to trace the cleft of Kendall's ass. Logan's thrusting goes erratic and the shaft of his dick starts teasing Kendall's hole until one wayward movement has the tip pressing in harshly. Kendall jumps forward, and Logan moves back against the foggy windows, every bit of him wanting to grab Kendall's hips and fuck into him.

There's this moment where the only sound in the car is heavy breathing. Kendall's hair is sweaty, matted against his forehead, beaded drops making their way down his temple and Logan wants to kiss the spots, take some of Kendall inside himself. Kendall places his forehead back onto his crossed arms, drops one leg from the seat to the floor and arches his back, moves his ass towards Logan.

"S-sorry. I wasn't trying to… I didn't do it on pur—"

"Do it," Kendall says.

"What?"

"Come on." He rolls his hips and Logan doesn't think he even realizes he's moving. "Do it."

"K-Kendall, I can't just—"

"Please," he whispers, peeking at Logan with his cheek resting against his arms, eyes hooded as the yellow street light makes him fuzzy around the edges, like one of the million horrible/wonderful dreams Logan has. He can't say no, not when Kendall looks straight into him. It's always been a problem, the word "no" and Kendall.

Logan tries to put more spit on himself, but he doesn't really have much, his mouth dry, lips chapped. And Kendall just blindly reaches out and finds Logan's waist, pulls him forward until his hips are flush against Kendall's ass, and it seems like neither boy cares anymore about anything but piecing together.

So Kendall's body pulls Logan inside, and it's hot and tight and needy and frenzied and neither boy remembers what is said or how long it lasts. It could be an hour, a minute, a second, but when Logan gets off, buried to the hilt inside Kendall, his chest flush across Kendall's back, an arm wrapped around Kendall's torso, all he knows is that he's a goner.

When he's come down, found his way back to a cold reality in the L.A. heat, his father's voice buzzes in his head like a heart monitor has flat-lined.

_My son won't be a fag._

~oOo~

They go on for months, fucks few and far between, but the watching routine stays the same. Kendall feels like some kind of addict, old and used up. He wants more from Logan, but can't say it out loud.

He knows better.

He's stopped trying to kiss Logan's mouth long ago, instead letting Logan lead, do what he wants, whatever he's comfortable with.

Kendall keeps dating Jo, sometimes wonders why, but knows it's because he's aching for affection. There's no doubt he cares for her; she's beautiful, fun, charming. She twines her fingers with his, presses against him because she wants to be close, not just because she wants to get off. Kisses his lips. Gives as much as she takes.

All of it makes Kendall feel like a piece of shit. He's never pictured himself as the unfaithful type, but then he's never pictured letting his best friend fuck him either. It almost seems to cancel it all out, just because it's  _Logan._ It's only something else they do together, like hockey or singing or playing in the snow.

Logan will have to be the one to stop this, Kendall knows. They all look to Kendall—his friends, his family—as this pillar of strength, when inside he's nothing but a coward. He won't stop this thing, but doesn't think he can push it forward when the risk is too great. Better to be used by Logan than not have him at all.

There's this word though, poking around the edges of his thoughts, a word that's always existed between them but has come to mean something different.

Kendall thinks it's really stupid there is only one word for love when there are so many different kinds.

The months turn to a year or more, and when Jo leaves, Logan stalls everything altogether. Kendall had some kind of foolish hope her leaving would make things change, push things forward, and when it doesn't, Kendall's heartache is doubled.

They go on tour, and Logan ignores any texts or notes or whispers from Kendall that aren't "normal". It's driving Kendall crazy, because he knows Logan still wears the stockings Kendall got him, late at night on the bus when he thinks Kendall is fast asleep.

The few months on the road seem endless, a famine. Kendall has never felt so starved in his life. No touches, no lustful looks, no silk or satin or lace. But that's not even the worst part. The worst part is never seeing Logan's smile aimed at Kendall, no deepening dimples when Kendall makes a funny face or sticks out his tongue. It's like he's been tossed in a desert on a cold, cold night that never ends, nothing but rough sand to press against his skin, a lightless sky to keep him company.

Kendall misses his friend most of all.

Does Logan still love fried pickles? Does he still even want to be a doctor? Does he still turn bright red when watching a PG-13 sex scene? Kendall knows the tiny moans Logan makes when he kisses the back of Logan's knee. He knows about the freckle on Logan's hip shaped like Canada, but he doesn't know the simplest things about Logan anymore. Is his favorite color still mossy green? It hurts deep down inside, a dark spot only Logan once made bright.

When they make it home, Logan declaring out of the blue he wants to pick things up with Camille, Kendall decides he needs to resolve this tension with Logan. Because there's this roiling emotion in his chest, his gut, and he's damn near certain it's jealousy.

When the two guys first fell into this situation, Kendall didn't mind Logan's on again/off again relationship so much. But now that he's known so much more of his friend, the heat of Logan buried in Kendall feeling like some kind of fucked up alignment of stars, he doesn't care for the idea.

No one else can know Logan like Kendall does.

~oOo~

Logan sits reclined on his bed. He's watching these tiny rainbows on the ceiling, streaming in through his collection of prisms by the window. He wonders about the colors he can't see, wishes his eyes were strong enough to take them all in.

Sometimes - most of the time - things don't work out the way he wishes they would.

He should be elated he and Camille are back together; it was his intention. He's relieved, but relief and elation are two very different things. It was a shit move on his part, because he hasn't been thinking of Camille's feelings the entire time he's known her. He's using her just as sure as he is Kendall, but at least having a relationship with Camille makes him straight.

Kendall will get over it. It's not like they were dating or talking about their feelings or sharing anything more than a kink.

As far as for himself, Logan isn't so sure. There's this unease in his heart of things left unfinished, things he can't finish. There's a sense of loss too, because how can they ever be just best friends again?

The object of his troublesome thoughts enters the room, and Logan's gaze jerks from the ceiling to Kendall. The taller boy plops on the end of Logan's bed. Logan sits up.

"So you and Camille, huh?"

Logan nods tentatively, wondering what Kendall's point will be. "You and Lucy seem flirty," Logan counters, offense building steam.

"Nuh uh, not the same thing. You saw how James acted when he tho-"

"What does Camille have to do with anything?" Logan interrupts. He scoots as far from Kendall as he can, presses his back against the headboard.

Kendall laughs and the sound is short, mirthless, mocking. "Nothing, I guess."

Logan doesn't want to have this conversation with Kendall now; he doesn't want this conversation  _ever._ It's been months, so why does Kendall care now? Logan fidgets, looks out the window and feels accused when Kendall has yet to make an accusation.

"I'm comfortable with Camille," Logan starts. "I know what's expected of me."

"Comfortable? Logan, does Camille know how you like to we-"

"No. Stop, okay? I don't think she'd mind anyway." Logan's cheeks are turning red, and it only embarrasses him further that he can feel them heating up.

Kendall nods. "You're probably right." He snorts. "I imagine she's really into roleplay."

"Don't laugh at her."

Kendall holds his hands up in defense. "I'm not. I like Camille. Simply making an observation." He looks Logan up and down before adding, "You'll never tell her."

They're quiet for long moments because they both know Kendall is right. Logan again trains his eyes on the ceiling, the once steady rainbows divided chaotically as a breeze cuts through the palm tree outside.

"You've been avoiding me," Kendall deadpans, eyes boring a hole into the side of Logan's face; the shorter boy can feel it.

"Yes," he answers, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"Why?"

"Because we can't get caught. And because we need to stop," Logan answers.

"How could you want to be with Camille, Logan? She  _kissed_ James. How can you tr-"

Logan's anger flashes like a bolt of lightning, and he meets Kendall's stare. "I've been messing around with you pretty much the whole time I've known her! Do you think that makes me feel good about myself? Do you think any of this does?"

"Well, we don't  _kiss_ do we? We get you off. That's about the extent of it, right? Let's not consider the fact there might be something  _more_ involved," Kendall all but growls, eyes dark and dangerous.

"Let's not," Logan agrees, voice just as low as Kendall's. He can't deal with analyzing Kendall's statement. There's no way he can ponder the idea Kendall might actually  _feel_ something for Logan. It's too much, too treacherous, and Logan knows he could never get it out of his head. It would be a waking nightmare, knowing Kendall is merely a few feet away, loving Logan, and not being able to touch him. So he takes Kendall's comment at face value.

"Unbelievable," Kendall mutters, covering his face with his hands.

There are several more awkward moments of silence, Logan looking away from Kendall again, before Kendall finally raises his head from his hands.

"You're homophobic, Logan."

"I am not. Don't you remember when James decided to 'experiment'," Logan wiggles his fingers in the air, making quotes, "and I was totally okay with it."

"Dude, think of the word. It literally means being scared of gay stuff _,_ and you're obviously scared of the gay in you," Kendall says.

"I don't have any gay in me," Logan sneers. "I don't suck dick or take it in the ass."

Kendall rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because you're  _so_ much straighter than I am. Just shut up, Logan. You know you would  _love_ to suck my dick."

Logan does shut up, stares at Kendall as though he's peeled away all Logan's layers and he's staring at every horrible thought that has floated through Logan's mind. Logan doesn't want to admit Kendall is right. On all counts.

"Come away with me," Kendall says, very nearly demands.

"What?"

"For a weekend. Dress up for me just one more time, and I'll leave it at that."

"Kendall, no, what are we supposed to say-"

"There's a Harry Potter convention next month in San Diego. We're old enough to go on our own, and it's the kind of thing we would've gone to do together back before-"

"So you want me to dress like Hermione or something?" Logan asks, quirking an eyebrow.

Kendall can't help it. He laughs. "No, we say that's where we're going."

"It's really not a good idea, Kendall. We need to move past this."

"You're right," Kendall says. Logan hears something strange in Kendall's voice, lowering an octave.

"I miss you, Logie," Kendall says.

"I bet you're wearing lacey panties right now," Kendall says. He crawls to Logan on his hands and knees, and Logan knows he should really stop him, so he encircles Kendall's wrists with his fingers, squeezes without force.

"You can pretend you don't want me to see," Kendall whispers, leaning in so close that Logan shivers at the heat coming from him.

"You can pretend you don't want to touch me," Kendall says, unbuckling Logan's belt, Logan's fingers still gripping Kendall's wrists.

"You can pretend you're pushing me away when you're really holding me in place," Kendall says.

Logan's breathing hitches and he gasps when Kendall's cool fingers grip his stiffening length. He can't say no. It's been so long.

"Pink today?" Kendall says, running a finger of his free hand under the fabric along Logan's hip. He leans in until his lips tickle Logan's ear with each breath.

"It's the middle of the day, Ken," Logan pants. "Anyone could-"

"I know you, Logan," Kendall whispers as he beings to jerk Logan's cock.

Within seconds, they are both panting, Logan's head pressing into the headboard until he sees stars. How can he imagine ever going without this? Kendall's learned fingers entice every last bit of reason and pride and propriety Logan possesses, and he can't ever seem to be mad about it. The shame though. The shame comes much later.

"Come away with me," Kendall says again, flicking his wrist and swiping a thumb over Logan's dick, forcing the other boy to moan.

Logan can't say no, can't say anything really, so he replies with a pleasured hiss which might be considered positive.

"I'll take that as a yes," Kendall says.

It's always been a problem, the word "no" and Kendall.


	5. Chapter 5

They go to this secluded cabin in the Hollywood hills. Kendall is thrilled their escape went so smoothly. He knows if there were any hitches, Logan would be backing out, and Kendall needs every moment to convince him.

It was only yesterday Kendall realized how much he loves Logan,  _love_ loves him in the all-consuming,  _I can't breathe without you_ way. He thinks it's crazy it took him so long to see it when the revelation was brought on by something so tiny.

Logan was packing his bag and Kendall was pretending to pack his own but actually watching TV out of the corner of his eye. Logan noticed his half-assed attempt at packing and laughed.

"Hey, Ken," Logan said, waiting the several moments it took for Kendall to turn his attention from the TV.

"Yeah, Logan?"

"Don't forget your blanket," Logan said, voice low to keep it from traveling to the others through the open door. Kendall felt a rush of affection so great he had to swallow, blink about a million times.

Kendall fucking Knight still has a blankie, and the only people in the whole wide world who know about it are his mom and Logan. It's not really a blankie, per se. It's the size of a throw blanket and dark blue, but Kendall and Logan both know it's a fucking  _blankie._ And Logan's never made fun of Kendall over it, never even thought twice. He even _reminded_ Kendall he should bring it.

That was the moment he knew how much he meant to Logan, how much Logan meant to him, how Logan was his best friend  _and_ the love of his life, so deeply ingrained in him Logan might as well be stitched into Kendall's skin.

Kendall had wanted to say how he wouldn't need the stupid blankie for comfort if Logan would let Kendall hold him at night.

Once they're inside their temporary lodgings, Kendall immediately pulls his bag down the small hallway and finds the master bedroom. The bed is huge and the furniture rustic. Kendall finds it all lovely and quaint. Kendall hears Logan coming down the hall, the click of his heels reminding Kendall of how badly he wants to get Logan on that mattress on his back. The clicking stops right behind Kendall.

"Is there just one bed?" Logan asks.

Kendall glances over at him and Logan is squeezing his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger, creating what Kendall has always affectionately called "the butt lip". Kendall smiles and reaches over, pulls Logan's hand away from his mouth.

"You're smearing your lipstick," Kendall laughs. "There's another room if you… if you really want…"

"Okay, well, um," Logan slides past Kendall, leaves his bag in the middle of the room, "we can decide that later." He kicks off his heels and curls his feet into the plush carpet, sweeps his hair to the side as he looks down at his feet. "Feels nice," Logan laughs.

Kendall just takes a moment to look Logan up and down. He's like this fucked up, backwards version of a butterfly, cocooned in layers of soft, beautiful fabric, and Kendall wants nothing more than to peel it all away, let loose the boy inside who is desperately trying to hide.

Kendall isn't stupid. He knows Logan's dad. He knows no matter what Logan is, it's never good enough. He knows how Logan suffers because of it. Kendall has been trying for years to make it right, but he can never replace the acceptance of a father. Kendall knows that all too well.

"I want some coffee," Logan says. "Is there coffee?"

~oOo~

"And do you remember the time you got stuck in that tree by your belt loop?" Kendall laughs.

"How could I forget?" Logan rubs his stomach. "I can still feel it."

They've been sitting on the couch in the small living area for over an over, sipping on coffee and swapping stories they've already swapped more times than they can count.

Kendall covers his mouth with his hand, trying to hamper the ridiculous amount of giggles bubbling out. "I'll never forget you shouting 'This defies the rules of physics and gravity! My weight in comparison to this branch means it should've broken by now!'"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Logan replies. "What about that time we played  _Truth or Dare_ and James locked you outside in your underwear?" Kendall tries to glare at him, but a smile still curls the corners of his mouth.

"You let me back in," Kendall says.

"I'm so weak."

"No, you're just my best friend who also loves me to pieces." Kendall doesn't think the word he uses is a big deal, because he knows they've always loved each other in some way, shape or form. Apparently it is a big deal to Logan, who stops laughing and smiling and looks at the steam rising from the coffee cup clutched between his hands.

"I'm going to get some more coffee," Logan says.

"But your cup is almost full," Kendall observes. Logan takes a long swallow of the steaming beverage.

"Just a freshen up." Logan smiles and it's forced. He glances at the lipstick stain on the rim of his mug, pushes his hair behind his ear. He stands and goes toward the kitchenette in stocking feet, and Kendall watches the gentle sway of Logan's hips in the dress he wears.

Kendall wants Logan so much, too much. He wants to grab Logan by the shoulders and shake him, scream at him, tear down these brick and mortar walls he's built around himself, tell him it's okay if they love each other; it's okay what they have is different from most ordinary relationships, because they're Kendall and Logan and they've never been anything if not extraordinary.

So Kendall follows Logan, moves to him as close as he dares without touching.

"Do you remember when my dad left?" Kendall asks, Logan standing statue still, his back to Kendall as he faces the coffee pot. Logan nods, barely a rustle through the wig. Kendall continues.

"I begged him not to. It was the middle of the night, and I heard Mom crying so I got up. He had a suitcase and his jacket and his bowling ball bag. I just remember thinking  _He wants his bowling ball more than us._ He was almost to the door, and I ran to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist and cried and screamed, over and over, 'Please don't go!' and he just stood there, calm, until I couldn't scream anymore. When I stopped yelling I said I was going with him. I went to my room and put my blankie, my comics and a few action figures in a bag. When I came out he was gone."

Logan stays quiet and still, so Kendall continues. "I swore I'd never beg for anything again. I'd never let anyone have that kind of hold on me.  _I_ would be the one in control. You know why I've never told you this story, Logan? Because when it comes to me and you, whether you believe it or not, you're the one in control. But it doesn't matter because you don't judge me. Ever. Somehow, no matter how much I was hurting, you made everything okay again. You always make everything okay. Would you turn around?"

Logan does, slowly, face downturned and hidden by the heavy waves of hair on the wig. Kendall reaches out, pulls it off and runs his fingers through Logan's flat, natural dark locks.

"Do you remember your mom bringing you over at 4 a.m.? It's because I wouldn't rest until I had you with me. Mom and I fought over it for hours. Thankfully, your mom understood."

"I remember," Logan mutters, still staring at his feet, and he looks sick. "I'll never forget how sad you were, how red your eyes were. I asked you what was wrong. You said, 'I just missed your face'." He smiles. It's a small one, a gentle curve Kendall wants to kiss into a full blown grin.

Kendall takes Logan's face in his hands, runs his thumbs over Logan's cheeks. He tries to look at everything but into Kendall's eyes.

"Logan, look at me." He does, hesitantly. "I'm  _begging_ you. Be with me. Be with me the way we've always been before all  _this_ started. We can still do this if you want, but it doesn't matter to me. It's not all this I want." His thumbs move to Logan's lips, wipe off the color. "Just, please, kiss me, touch me. Tell me we  _mean_ something. That would be the only difference." Kendall moves his fingers to Logan's eyes and they close. He smudges away the color there, wipes away Logan's blush with his palms.

"Logan, I lo-"

"Don't."

"But why? It's nothing new. Don't you understand that?"

"I just," Logan swallows, "can't forget it once you say it out loud."

And then Logan opens his eyes again, dark as night surrounded by blurred mascara and eyeliner and shadow. The look is loaded with want and fear and love and regret and a million other things Kendall would take years to decipher if Logan would only let him.

"Let's not avoid each other anymore, Logan. Please," Kendall says, pushing the straps of Logan's dress over his shoulders. It slides off easily and pools around his feet, leaving him standing in nothing but frilly underthings. Kendall presses his lips against Logan's bare shoulder, fingers finding the clasp of his padded bra.

"Please," Kendall says, discarding the bra, smoothing his fingers down Logan's bare torso.

"Please," Kendall says, lowering to his knees, unsnapping Logan's garter belt, pulling it off.

"Please," Kendall says, sliding off Logan's panties, pulling down his stockings until Logan is naked and hard. Kendall starts at Logan's ribs, presses his mouth on each one. His lips traverse to Logan's hips, his thighs, his knees, lifting Logan's leg and placing a kiss on his ankle.

"Please," Kendall says, and Logan can't stand the pleading in Kendall's voice, his stature or his eyes anymore.

Logan has never been so completely vulnerable and exposed. No matter how many times they've messed around, he's always had something to hide behind, a patch of satin or silk. Now, Kendall has him stripped to nothing, and he's just himself, just  _Logan_ and he's terrified.

Terrified and thrilled.

Logan is broken down or bolstered or somewhere in between the two or nowhere at all. Maybe he's only whatever Kendall wills him to be, maybe that's all he's ever been since the moment they met on a swingset in the snow.

"You can't hide behind these clothes anymore. I don't want you to. Please, stop trying."

Logan takes a deep breath as Kendall nuzzles his thigh, palms smooth up his legs to his ass.

Logan is reeling.

"Just," Logan starts, wondering what the hell he can say, "just, kiss me." Both boys are surprised, but Logan's thoughts - every ridiculous tangent and train - all center around the want to have Kendall's lips pressed against his. There are no sidebars this time, no niggling voices of doubt. Just a want that has always been there.

So Kendall rises to his feet, left arm encircling Logan's waist, open palm against the bare skin of Logan's hip, right palm cupping Logan's face. He moves in slowly, giving Logan the chance to protest or push him away. Logan doesn't, his eyes focused on Kendall's lips, the tiny indentation of his lower one, the cupid's bow of his upper. Logan ponders Kendall's mouth, the beautiful voice that pushes music past his lips, the voice of reason and certainty and passion, and Logan wants to swallow it all.

So when Kendall finally closes the last few inches between their mouths, Logan doesn't hesitate to return pressure, only pauses a moment before opening his lips to embrace Kendall's tongue.

Kendall has always fit, no matter where he's gone. For a moment, Logan tastes the flavor of belonging. He foolishly thinks it's just because Kendall is who he is, and not because he's maybe found where  _he_  belongs, finally, wrapped in Kendall's arms, two sets of lips sliding together like the links of a chain.

Logan does what he's wanted to do for well over a year now and reaches out, plunges his fingers into Kendall's messy hair, presses his naked body against Kendall's clothed one. A tiny whine unfurls from his throat, and Kendall licks into Logan's mouth, finding his tongue, turning the whine into a full groan.

Their lips finally part, both panting and smiling and flying high on an unspoken emotion. Logan touches Kendall's cheeks, his nose, leans up and kisses his throat, his chin, his ears. There's so much of Kendall he wants to see, to touch, but his hands are shaking so much he can't seem to undo the top button of Kendall's shirt.

"What do you want, Logan?" Kendall asks, placing his hands on top of Logan's trembling ones. Logan lets out a nervous laugh and splays his hands on Kendall's chest, thumb tapping in time with the thump of Kendall's heart.

"I want to get your clothes off," Logan answers, proud that he only sounds a little embarrassed.

So Kendall reaches between Logan's hands, easily undoes the button with which Logan struggled. Logan's hands move to Kendall's hips to give him more room, and the shorter boy can't help but dip his fingers under Kendall's top, brush across the heated skin of his stomach. Kendall lets out his own awkward laugh, as though he can't believe this is happening, Logan's fingers searching and exploring, lips parted and willing and ready. To know that he is desired - just as he is - has more heat rushing to Logan's groin, and he can't stand the wait anymore as Kendall undresses. Logan begins unfastening Kendall's belt as the taller boy works on his shirt, the metal  _clang_ of the buckle sounding out starkly amongst the cadence of heavy breathing.

The urgency becomes overwhelming and both boys are working quickly to rid Kendall of his clothes. Logan pushes Kendall's pants and underwear down, Kendall stepping out of them as they both pull his undershirt over his head. Kendall is barely freed from his top before he is embracing Logan, so much skin on skin, finding his swollen lips again and kissing them until they are both breathless.

Kendall's arms snake around Logan's waist and sweep Logan off his feet, his legs instinctually wrapping around Kendall. And Kendall should really break the kiss so he can carry Logan without misstep, but the joy of finally kissing him so intimately has Kendall stumbling blindly down the hall, his hands filled with the flesh of Logan's ass. There are moments he can't wait to be firmly pressed against Logan, so the journey to the bedroom is long, Kendall stopping every few steps to push Logan into the wall, feel the pressure of Logan's writhing hips.

When they finally make their way to bed, Kendall tries to lower Logan gently, but Logan won't let go and they both tumble to the mattress.

Kendall asks again, "What do you want, Logan?" as Logan's mouth slides down his throat, laves at his collar bone.

"You," Logan whispers, lips finding Kendall's. "I want you."

The words don't burn the way Logan thought they would.

Before he can overthink, Logan stretches out onto his back, pulling Kendall on top of him. He wraps his fingers around Kendall's cock with little trepidation. The heat of Kendall is tremendous, embers in Logan's hand, a steady pulse throbbing through Kendall's dick syncopating with the beat of his heart.

"God, Logan,  _yes,_ I've wanted this  _so_ long," Kendall hisses, attacking Logan's mouth, nipping at his lower lip. Logan is spurred on by Kendall's pleasured words, and he increases pressure, giving Kendall the touches Logan has so long denied him.

Logan parts his thighs and Kendall settles in between them, cocks lining up and sliding together. Logan's need for Kendall to be inside of him seems insurmountable, and his mouth opens before any ramifications can settle in his overactive brain.

"Fuck me," Logan says.

"Please," Logan says. "Just do it."

Kendall pulls his lips from Logan's throat with a tiny pop. He looks at Logan - his eyes full of questions - so long Logan begins to squirm under the scrutiny. Kendall sees he's making Logan uncomfortable and smooths his hands up to Logan's face, expression softening.

Kendall watches his fingers as they run through Logan's hair, trace the bridge of his nose, tickle across his lips. He leaves his fingers on Logan's chin and smiles, halfway, a short disbelieving laugh escaping through his nose. Kendall shakes his head before he presses a chaste kiss against Logan's lips.

Logan is so enraptured by Kendall's warm mouth, he doesn't even notice Kendall reach into the night stand, doesn't notice Kendall slickening his fingers. In fact, Logan is so focused on the flavor of Kendall, the scent of his sweat-sheened skin, the only thing he does notice is Kendall pressing a finger inside him.

Logan tenses up a bit at the intrusion, and Kendall sits back on his haunches so that he can pump Logan's erection as he stretches the smaller boy's hole.

The sensation is amazing, Kendall's long fingers around him and inside him. It's so much, Logan starts muttering thoughtlessly, pushing his head into the pillow. He feels like he's floating away and only Kendall can keep him where he is. And Logan  _really_ wants to stay where he is. There's this tenderness, too, in every one of Kendall's movements, each press against that spot inside him.

Logan knows his treatment of Kendall has been unforgivable, yet Kendall is still taking the time to make sure Logan is ready, something Logan never did for Kendall, despite having wanted to.

Logan thinks he is in serious danger of exploding, feeling much too much.

"Please,  _now_ ," Logan says, hips bucking and trembling.

So Kendall hooks one of Logan's knees over an arm, uses his free hand to line his cock up to Logan's opening. He gives Logan a final look, a final moment to back out, but Logan simply holds his steady gaze, panting, as Kendall sheathes himself in Logan's body.

He pauses, hips flush against Logan's ass, his brow furrowed in concentration and short, hot breaths escape his open mouth.

All of it is too much for Logan, just as he's always feared, and he's so fucking full, not just with Kendall's dick but with everything else the blond pours into him, thoughts and emotions that even a genius like Logan has no hope of taking stock. And when Kendall opens his eyes to look at Logan, judge his reaction, the leafy green iris swallowed up by the window of Kendall's pupil, Logan has to close his own eyes against the burning.

Kendall misjudges Logan's reaction for pain. "It gets better, I promise," he whispers leaning down to kiss Logan as he begins to thrust.

Logan doesn't think he can handle it if things get much better.

Kendall covers Logan's body with his own, burrowing his arms under Logan's back, squeezing him so close Logan can't breathe, but he doesn't care, because he's holding Kendall just as close, fingernails biting into the flesh of Kendall's hips urging him to thrust harder.

They are an arpeggio, cards in bicycle spokes, the steady patter of raindrops in a storm. It feels like this is happening so fast, when in reality it's something budded when they were small and naïve, when the word "love" slipped past their lips as easily as they skinned their knees. They are trying to manifest a feeling, make it tangible with fingers and hips and heartbeats and mouths.

Logan always knew the science of love, the chemicals released. He's always known it's the brain producing love, all that bullshit about heart-love being complete…well…bullshit. Your heart has nothing to do with love, Logan always thought.

But when Kendall's rosy lips murmur words of forever against Logan's throat, when Kendall's hips move just right, when Kendall looks straight into Logan's soul and sees every filthy, despicable thing and still kisses his lips, Logan's heart skips a beat. He thinks maybe science has little to do with it. He thinks maybe he's starting to get what all those love songs mean.

This isn't just fucking; this isn't just getting off.

After he comes into a million pieces, after Kendall pulls Logan in and tangles their legs until they are indistinguishable as separate, Logan wonders how he can ever forget, especially when he doesn't want to.

~oOo~

Kendall wakes up to Logan mumbling in his sleep. Logan's back is against Kendall's chest, and the covers have been pushed to the floor. Kendall takes the moment to appreciate Logan's naked body, skin winter-silver in the blue moonlight streaming through the curtains. He traces a line down Logan's torso with his index finger, watching in awe as gooseflesh erupts over Logan's rib cage. Logan's breathing speeds as he wakes.

"Tickles," Logan mutters, grabbing Kendall's hand and clutching it between his own, just over his heart. He wakes enough to kiss each of Kendall's fingers.

"You're really here," Logan says, arching his back and pressing his ass into Kendall's groin. Kendall hums, presses his lips against Logan's neck.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Kendall asks.

"Dunno," Logan replies. "I had a dream." He doesn't offer anymore, but moves against Kendall, swivels his hips.

"You really like me like this? Just…me?" Logan questions, whispers, as though he's afraid to ask.

"It's more than just "like", Logan," Kendall answers. Logan doesn't dwell on the subject anymore, writhing against Kendall until all the blond can think about is being inside the other boy.

"Want you," Kendall whispers, taking Logan's earlobe between his teeth.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Kendall answers, moving his hips and pressing into Logan's opening without much effort, Logan still slick from before, both hissing in tandem at being connected again. Kendall pulls back slowly, pushes back in at the same pace.

"Are you sore?" Kendall asks, buried to the hilt inside Logan, the brunet wiggling and grinding against Kendall's hips.

"A little," Logan answers. "Doesn't matter. I want to feel you. I don't want to forget how this feels." His voice tapers into almost nothing, and a dark, dreaded feeling whispers up Kendall's spine.

Instead of addressing it, Kendall pulls out, snaps his hips forward, a satisfying slap echoing into the quiet room.

" _Mmm, yes,_  just like that." Logan reaches behind him, digs his fingers into Kendall's ass.

Kendall thrusts forward again and again and again until Logan is nearly shouting. "Harder," he demands, so Kendall pounds into him harder.

"God, you feel so good, Ken," Logan says, repeats it over and over.

Hands travelling down Logan's stomach, Kendall grasps Logan's cock, begins to pump with each thrust. Kendall doesn't want Logan to forget either, so he pushes into Logan with as much force as he can muster and holds him there, lets go of Logan's cock to wrap both arms around his chest as though he might run away.

"I love you, Logan," Kendall says.

Logan only replies with a groan, a sound unfurling from his throat that might be pain or pleasure or some hybrid of the two.

Kendall clutches Logan like he's a temporary thing, like Logan will turn to vapor, notes of music and slip through his arms.

He tries to convince himself, as he shouts Logan's name when he comes, that he's not begging.

He tries to convince himself this isn't ending as it's only just beginning.

But Kendall knows Logan.

Some things, even Kendall Knight can't fix.

~oOo~

Logan doesn't want to be  _that_  guy.

The guy who cheats on his girlfriend and lies to his friends.

The guy who doesn't have parents because they can't accept who he is.

The guy who gets married and has kids and lives a life in the closet because he's afraid.

No matter what Logan does, he's going to be some version of  _that_ guy.

Logan is a coward. But he has a father, friends, fans.

"We can't do this anymore," Logan says when they park at the Palmwoods.

Kendall's face isn't shocked, but it is sad. Logan knows love has something to do with the heart, because he's pretty sure he hears a duet of hearts breaking when the words pass his lips.

Logan can see Kendall take a thick swallow.

"What about us?"

"Would it make it easier if I told you I love you?" Logan chokes, the words burning sweet and sour.

Kendall shakes his head. "No, not at all."

This way, Logan only hurts one person.

Even if that person is the last person Logan would ever want to hurt.

In all actuality, he's hurting two people, if he counts himself.

Logan has never counted himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. If it makes anyone feel better, you can imagine Kendall doing some grand romantic gesture like holding a boom box over his head playing "Love Me, Love Me" and Logan realizing everyone else can go to hell and they bake heart shaped croissants together after making sweet love under the stars. Then they go tell Logan's dad and he's so happy because Logan is happy and he realizes he should love his kids no matter what. I don't know.


End file.
